


Much ado about nothing

by DeVereWinterton



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M, Implied Smut, Lethal gowns, Muggle London, Not-quite-there-yet-smut, Reminiscing, There's a lot of dresses, sort of smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-09-23 15:22:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17082833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeVereWinterton/pseuds/DeVereWinterton
Summary: Phryne Fisher is faced with a dilemma; all of these lovely gowns… and still, she has nothing to wear.





	Much ado about nothing

**Author's Note:**

> The other day me and my friend were discussing clothes, and we wondered if there is such a thing as owning too many clothes (I do not believe in this concept). And now this happened.
> 
> Thanks to Geenee27 for the beta!

 

“I have absolutely nothing to wear!” Phryne Fisher exclaimed with a huff, obviously agitated because of her ‘lack’ of proper attire as she glared at her wardrobe. She turned to face Jack, hands on her hips, brow furrowed in frustration, rolling her lips together.

Jack merely shrugged in amusement at her outrage, adjusting the cufflinks on his dress shirt as he sat on the bed. He figured she must have owned at least enough clothes to dress three orphanages worth of young women, and she would probably still have enough outfits left to last her a decade. Not to mention her extensive shoe collection, or her millinery one. Granted, most of these items were still back in Melbourne, but she had definitely not been sitting still during her time in London.

There were expensive gowns everywhere, strewn all over the bedroom. One was even more exquisite than the next with their sparkling beadwork and embroidery, yet they had all been deemed either unworthy, insufficient or both. The young maid, Anna, had left them about half an hour ago when Phryne had started huffing and puffing, and Jack couldn’t say he disagreed with her.

Phryne Fisher was quite a force to be reckoned with when displeased.

Then again, wasn’t she always her own force of nature?

She certainly always was a vision. Even (or especially?) now, dressed in a soft pink camisole and matching tap pants with cream coloured lace trim, silky smooth stockings and suspenders.

Jack had arrived in London about a month ago, their reunion every bit as passionate as he’d hoped it would be. The recollection of her surprised expression as she’d opened the door that late night still brought a smile to his face. He'd arrived on her doorstep looking unkempt, having come straight from the docks. He was tired and hungry, but he'd been uncharacteristically impatient - unable to wait another night to see her. Apparently she'd shared the sentiment, as she’d all but dragged him into the luxurious townhouse. She hadn't stopped touching him until she'd fed him, bathed him, and had tucked him into her bed.

Later, she told him she'd needed to touch him because she couldn't believe he was really here. She'd been sprawled all over him, sometimes almost smothering him in his sleep, ever since.

Jack wasn't complaining.

A month later, the passion was still there, but there was also an almost foreign sense of comfort, of belonging, of tender lovemaking, slow and close. And even though he’d seen more of her naked skin over the course of the past month than during the years of their acquaintance, the sight of her _en déshabillé_ was one he didn’t think he would ever tire of.

Phryne cocked an eyebrow at him, clearly waiting for him to contradict her or to make a clever remark.

Jack held up his hands in mock defense as he stood up from the bed. “You shall hear no protests from me, Miss Fisher,” he said. Mostly because he knew it was a moot point; the woman had an aptitude for stubbornness, to say the least. She narrowed her eyes at him. “Besides, I much prefer you in nothing,” he admitted almost shyly, voice low and his eyes hot on her lithe form as he straightened his waistcoat.

A sly smile crept onto her face. She raised her chin defiantly, silently challenging him. Her eyes were hooded as she walked towards him, effortlessly, yet elegantly closing the distance between them. Jack followed the swaying movements of her barely-clad hips with interest.

“Do you, now?” she asked.

“Absolutely.” His bold confirmation had her biting her red-slicked bottom lip in anticipation.

Jack hadn’t been looking forward to attending the Beresford birthday soirée. Phryne had introduced him as her partner a few weeks ago at the annual Beresford charity ball and Lady Beresford had made it very clear - though not in so many words - that she did not approve of him. Jack didn’t consider himself to be an opportunist, but he wasn’t an idiot. If there was a reason - however ridiculous - to skip tonight’s event, he was more than willing to support, rather than to contradict it.

Then again, the fiercely possessive look in Phryne’s eyes as she’d almost frantically sucked him off in Lady Beresford’s bedroom during the ball, had definitely made the Lady’s earlier contempt worthwhile.

“I could simply claim I’m wearing an invisible gown, Jack.” She twirled right on front of him, and her childlike behaviour made his heart clench in adoration. “Like in ‘The Emperor’s New Clothes.’”

He smirked.

“I’d be forced to arrest you for public indecency,” he rumbled.

The way her eyes flared up at his suggestion when she turned to face him made his blood bubble with arousal, whilst he simultaneously resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Of course the idea of an arrest would appeal to her. _Of course_ it would.

He loved her all the more for it.

Jack reached out to wrap his arm around her waist, pulling her close. Her skin was burning underneath the flimsy material of her undergarments, and his hand strayed lower until it rested on top of the curve of her bottom. He still marvelled at the easy comfort between them, mesmerised by the fact that he, Jack Robinson, was at liberty to touch the remarkable, brilliant woman in his arms.

Phryne immediately pressed up against him, one hand holding onto his broad shoulder while the other loosened his immaculately knotted bow tie. “Well, we wouldn't want to be inconsiderate guests, showing up dressed in inappropriate attire... Now, would we, Jack?” she tutted as she succeeded in loosening his tie, dropping it on the floor.

He smiled inwardly at her mention of ‘we’ when he had, in fact, been dressed appropriately. Or even dressed at all.

“I don't know about that,” he murmured, smiling. She looked up at him, eyes on his face as his gaze shifted, focused on the bare, marble-like, elegant column of her throat. His fingers settled gently on the spot just below her ear, gliding slowly down her neck, teasing the sensitive skin his calloused fingertips encountered. Her lips parted softly, sweetly, and Jack had to resist the temptation to kiss her. He loved kissing Phryne, but he loved teasing her in equal measure.

“No?” she whispered, and they shared a smile, the current events reminding them of a different time, when Jack had found the courage to reach out. To touch her. To stroke her neck until her insides had threatened to turn into molten lava.

Her knees felt weak as he continued downward, stroking her collarbone and stopping just above her breast. She huffed out a breath in frustration, and the man had the audacity to _chuckle_!

“No,” Jack rumbled with a smirk. “There was a time when I considered some of your gowns lethal.” He knew exactly which specific gown he was referring to, tracing patterns with his fingers. He was mapping her chest into quadrants reminiscent of the neckline of that enticing Fleuri dress. It seemed Phryne was right there with him, her bosom rising and falling more rapidly with each breath she took.

His hand fleetingly teased the curve of her breast before coming to rest on her waist.

“And the way you looked while wearing them was probably illegal.” He swallowed as she teased the short, surprisingly soft hairs at the nape of his neck before carefully sinking her nails into his skin. He groaned. “It still is.”

“I couldn't help it that you were so easily prone to 'blush at the sight of a little bare flesh,'” she stated coquettishly, even though her own blush, high on her cheeks, and her shallow breathing betrayed the arousal coursing through her veins.

Jack leaned in, bypassing her waiting mouth in favour of the crook of her neck. Lightly nuzzling the tempting skin he found, he brushed his lips down her jaw. She released a shuddering breath, lips quivering.

“Maybe I didn't blush because of that,” he whispered in her ear, before suckling on her earlobe. When he sank his teeth into the small expanse of flesh, she moaned. He thought about the time she had sashayed into his office as ‘Fern’ and had flashed him her dress. That damnable dress, with it’s strategically placed shimmery sequins and _dear God_ , those splits that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. “Maybe I simply wanted to see more,” he murmured hoarsely.

Phryne was suddenly breathless. The idea that Jack had wanted to see more of her bare skin so early on in their acquaintance made her shiver. She knew she’d instantly ruined her knickers as her cunt throbbed and beat a steady tattoo against her satin underwear. She had known Jack had fallen for her early on. However, she realised now that she had grossly underestimated his burning desires. 

“Did you… _want_ to see more?” she whispered, hands focused on the task of unbuttoning his waistcoat and shirt, even as he started placing open-mouthed kisses along her neck, jaw and collarbone. His large palms ventured lower until he was kneading her behind, making her groan. 

“Always.”

“What would you think about, Jack?” She raked her nails across his now bare chest - pleased to note that he wasn't wearing an undershirt -  earning her a hiss. Jack quickly spun her around and pressed her back against his front, not hiding the effect she had on his body, pulling her hips even closer. She mewled in delight, then wiggled her arse against his groin and he had to stifle a groan of his own.

“If I was even able to think straight, Miss Fisher, I'll admit most of my coherent thoughts focused on the fastenings of your various dresses, and how I could undo them,” he all but growled against her soft skin, trailing a single finger along her side as if to undo an invisible row of hooks and eyes.

“Did you succeed?” she inquired breathlessly.

“Sometimes,” he admitted with a small smile that she felt against her shoulder.

“Did you touch yourself while you thought about undressing me?” she panted.

“Gods, yes,” he groaned his confession against the back of her neck, dragging hot, wet kisses along her flesh.

“Mmm…” she murmured in approval at both his admission and the way his palms cupped her breasts through the satin of her camisole. He ran his fingers over her dusky nipples and she moaned softly. “Me too.”

Jack pinched her taut nipples between his fingers, his own body shaking with desire, and Phryne bucked her hips, pushing hard against the ridge of his arousal. Jack shuddered, overcome with the need to get inside her as he nestled his cock against the firm globes of her arse. One of his hands moved down to rest heavily on her mons Veneris.

“Jack,” she gasped, and Jack knew they were fighting a losing battle. Then again, it rather depended on the way one looked at things. Phryne Fisher, trembling with desire in his arms, was not something he was likely to regret. He rubbed up against her, and they groaned in unison when she squirmed, firmly grinding her derrière against his aroused interest.

He released her, and Phryne turned in his arms, immediately undoing his belt and pushing his trousers down in one swift movement.

“We're not going to make it to this party, are we?” Jack asked, a smile tugging at his lips. Phryne was standing in front of him, a lustful expression in her eyes, chest flushed, pupils dilated. She started massaging his cock through the cotton of his underwear and Jack choked on whatever it was he was about to say next, before she loosened the string of his smalls and shoved those down his muscular thighs as well.

“No,” she confirmed and gave him a knowing look, then dropped down to get on her knees in front of him.

“And there's nothing we can do about it, is there?” he asked, one hand grabbing hold of her shoulder for leverage as the other tenderly stroked her hair.

Phryne softly blew on his hard length, pleased to note the shiver that ran through his body. She loved seeing Jack like this, passionate and out of control, giving into his baser desires. She felt honoured, in a way, that she was the one who had unleashed this man, had brought him out into the light. Dear, brave Jack. She leaned in to inhale his musky scent. Her eyes were filled with mischief, love and longing as her tongue darted out to wet her lips.

“Nothing at all, darling.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> 'Much Ado About Nothing' is a comedy by William Shakespeare thought to have been written in 1598 and 1599.


End file.
